Ghost
by Beautiful-Crying-Angel
Summary: Set near the end of season 4. Dean broke the first seal, that will always haunt him. Some ghosts are just better off dead.


**Title:** Ghost

**Summary:** One shot. Set towards the very end of season four. With almost all the seals broken, and the Apocalypse right around the corner, Dean doesn't think things could get any worse. That is until he is faced with ghosts that should just stay dead. Just an idea that came to me.

**Warning:** Rated teen, due to language and mature subject matter.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the brothers Winchester, or anything pertaining to them.

**Note: **The beginning quote is taken from episode 4x10 _"Heaven and Hell."_

**Ghost**

_**"**__They sliced and carved and tore me in ways... until there was nothing left. And then suddenly I would be whole again, like magic. Just so they could start it all over again. Then Alastair at the end of every day, every one, he would come over and he would make me an offer to take me off the rack if I put souls on, if I started to torture them. And every day I told him to stick it where the sun shines. For thirty years I told him, but then I couldn't do it anymore Sammy, I couldn't. And I got off that rack, and God help me, I started ripping them apart. I lost count of how many souls. The things that I did to them."_

"_Dean, Dean, look you held up for thirty years, that's longer than any one would've."_

_"How I feel inside me, I wish I couldn't feel anything, Sammy. I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing."_

_I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing…_

Dean Winchester pulled his beloved '67 Impala up to the motel room. The room was tacky but comfortable, one of the better he had stayed in. Another hunt was over, all the monsters vanquished. Mission complete, right? He should be able to relax, unwind a bit before something else came slamming through the door. But of course he could not, carrying the fate of the entire world –quite literally– on his shoulders. How was he supposed to take it easy with the damn Apocalypse closing in? And knowing that he broke the first seal? Well it wasn't exactly a trip to Disneyworld.

"Hey, Sammy, you wanna rent a movie?"

"Dude, I am not watching porn with you."

"No, c'mon. I meant like a movie with all those cheap jokes, and happily-ever-after shit."

Sam stared at Dean shocked. "Seriously?"

"Yeah." He needed a distraction, badly.

"I would, that'd be awesome, but I kind of already made plans…to go out."

"Okay, then."

"Look Dean, I really wish I could stay. Maybe when I get back-"

"Don't worry about it."

"Dean…" Sam looked at him, his eyes pleading. He didn't want Dean to be angry at him, but he couldn't help it. Sam didn't need to say anything; they both knew where he was going, what he was going to do. Heck, Dean wouldn't have been surprised if Ruby was waiting outside. "Is it cool if I take the Impala?"

"I don't care what you do." Dean watched as his little brother turned his back on him, and walked out the door. It stung more than he cared to admit. He stared at the door long after Sam had gone.

**GHOST**

Dean showered quickly, and walked the two blocks to the nearest bar. The smell of alcohol and cigarettes, and the pounding music hit him as soon as he entered. Finally, he was home.

Dean ordered one beer, then another, and a third. Now, was the time for drinking. He drank with more enthusiasm than he felt, pushing towards the promise of numbness and relief. The promise to just forget it all.

He wondered where Sam was, not that he particularly wanted to know. Probably off somewhere banging Ruby. He shuttered. The image disturbed him, the betrayal cut deep. Forty years in the pits of hell, in the very center of pain and despair, for his brother, and how had he repaid him? By becoming some demon bitch's man candy? It made him sick.

Dean had made a mistake in hell, one mistake. He hadn't been strong like his father, and what had come of it? The freakin' Apocalypse! There was no way they'd stop it in time, he knew, even if Sam denied it. The knot in the pit of his stomach tightened. He felt empty and dead inside. Hell will leave you feeling like that.

"Dean…" the whisper of his name startled him, cutting him off mid drink. The older Winchester inspected the crowd, but there was no one he knew. No supernatural creatures, or shifty characters (or at least, no more than usual).

Dean sighed. "Damn, I must be drunker than I thought."

**GHOST**

The bed looked so blissfully comfortable. Dean stumbled into the room, and collapsed onto it. Immediately he was asleep, snoring softly, fending off demons in alcohol induced sleep.

He was awoken by a strange noise at 3:30. He glanced sideways at the bedside clock, its red numbers glowing brightly in the dark room. He looked around, finding Sam's bed empty.

"Dean…" The figure stood at the end of his bed, silhouetted by the window.

"Sam, I'm not in the mood to talk. Just go to bed." He laid back down. When no sound followed, no creak of a bed or clothes being removed, he peeked open an eye. They hadn't moved, even an inch, standing erect and unearthly silent. It was too quiet, the sound of his breathing was the only in the room.

"Dude, what?"

Suddenly the mysterious person disappeared. Instantly Dean was up, reaching for the knife tucked safely under his pillow. He shook the fog from his mind, alert and ready.

"Dean…"the voice repeated, directly beside him this time. There stood a woman, her pale skin glowing from the moonlight pouring from between the curtains, her golden hair flowing past her shoulders. She certainly was beautiful – for a ghost.

She reached towards him. Dean reacted immediately, lunging at her, weapon in hand. Again, she disappeared. He landed on the floor with a heavy thud, entangled in sheets. Cursing steadily, he struggled to free himself.

"Turn the light on, Dean." Pausing in his urgent attempt to escape, he flicked on the lamp, bathing the room in radiance. The woman lounged in a chair, her head tilted back, eyes closed. It was official, she was definitely the strangest spirit he had ever met.

"Who are you?" he demanded, standing. "What the hell do you want?"

She smiled, "Oh, come now, Dean. I'm offended. Won't you come sit with me?"

He didn't move. She hadn't tired to kill him, _yet,_ but that didn't mean she wouldn't. How she was speaking to him was…weird. And the way she kept saying his name, like they were old, personal friends freaked him out. What was that all about?

"Are you for real? You don't remember me?" He must have given her a confused look, because she said, "Fine. Then I'll help you." She raised a hand, passing it in front of her face. Immediately she changed. Her eyes were wide and filled with pain and fear. Her features morphed into a maze of cuts, fresh and gruesome, the bright red of blood sharp against her pale skin. "Remember me now?" she asked, her gentle voice hoarse.

"Alana?"

"Yeah, it's me." Her face resumed its normalcy. Shaking, Dean dropped his knife, and fell into the seat beside her. Yes, he knew her, although he wished he didn't. It was impossible! How could Alana have been there with him? It didn't make any sense.

"How did you get out of hell?" This could not be happening! His past was coming back to haunt him.

Alana had been another unfortunate soul, thrown into the midst of suffering. Another of Alastair's favorites. For thirty years, Dean had remained strong, taking the rack everyday.. . but one day, he just couldn't take it anymore. He accepted the offer and got off. Alana was the first soul he had tortured, sloppy and broken. The day he had spilled blood, and broken the first seal, she was it.

"They promised me one day above ground." She smiled sadly, "I went to see my family, my boyfriend. I forgot how beautiful they were."

"They just let you out?"

"Of course not, I had do something for it."

"What?"

"I'm not proud of what I did… I broke a seal, Dean. I'm sorry I did, but I've been down there for one year. More than one hundred hell years. One hundred years! I just had to."

"Alana…" What could he say? He probably would have done the same thing. And she had lasted far longer than he would have. Was she a vengeful spirit come to kill him? Torture him like he had to her? It didn't seem like it. She did not seem angry, or murderous, just sad.

"What makes you so special, Dean? Why did the angels save you and not me? Or any of the others? I was faithful, I prayed, but no, they rescued _you_. A righteous man in hell they called you. Oh yeah, what makes you so righteous? How you died for your brother? Sold your soul? Well, do you know what I gave my soul away for?"

"No," in fact, he had never thought about it.

"My sister, and her husband, had been trying for years to have baby. Years. Doctors said it was hopeless, they had almost given up, and then, one day, they were blessed with a little baby boy. My nephew, Andy." Alana's eyes welled as she thought of him. "As it turned out, after Andy she wasn't able to have anymore children. But she didn't care, she had him. Her son. Things were perfect, until some drunken idiot hit Andy while he was walking home. He was declared brain dead. My sister was heartbroken, damn near suicidal. So, I did what I thought I had to. I gave my life for Andy's…He turned twelve a week ago."

"I never knew…"

"How could you? Not like we got a chance to talk while you were carving up my skin." Alana flickered from her chair, reappearing in front of the mirror. She ran a hand down her smooth skin, savoring the touch. She examined her body, twirled her long blond hair, clean of blood and filth. "You want to hear the worst part?"

"What?" She materialized in front of him, her face inches from his. "I always wanted to be a wife and mother, get married, have children of my own. Now, I never will. I'll become some evil, black eyed bitch. I'll lose myself completely, overcome by hate and agony. One of Lucifer's minions. They tell me it's only a matter of time." She trembled. "I'm scared, Dean."

"No, Alana. You're good and kind, more righteous than I'll ever be. I'm sure Cas can save you." She laughed without humor. "I'm sorry. I've asked myself a million times why me? Why not someone else?"

"Because they chose you, Dean. And now _you_ have to fix it."

"What?"

"You can fix this. You can stop the Apocalypse. You can save the world. You _need_ to, for children like my nephew."

"I don't think I can."

"You have to. You must. Promise me, Dean! Promise me you will!" The distress in her eyes, and the urgency in her voice shocked him. "Please…"

"I will, Alana. I promise." She sighed, relieved. He reached out to touch her, to feel the softness of her skin, how it was before they cut and scarred her. Abruptly her head snapped towards the door, her face anxious.

"What is it?"

"They're here for me."

"Who?"

"The hell hounds." Alana turned to him again. "You are a good man, Dean Winchester." She leaned in close, and softly kissed his cheek. "Your father was right," she whispered, "You have to kill him. He'll be the down fall of us all."

Dean stiffened. "I can't," he whispered, but there was no one there.

Holding his head in his hands, Dean cried.

_I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing…_

Some ghosts are better off dead.


End file.
